


Morgenstern

by Aamalysstuff



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1956 Hungarian Revolution, Aftermath of Violence, Angst and Porn, F/M, Female Protagonist, Historical Hetalia, Hurt/Comfort, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, POV Female Character, Past Austria/Hungary (Hetalia), Past Relationship(s), Sex, Soviet Union, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22122937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aamalysstuff/pseuds/Aamalysstuff
Summary: It's November 1956 and the Hungarian Uprising against communist rule has just been ruthlessly crushed by Soviet forces.For Hungary, it means she's getting dragged back to Moscow and to the big, cold house she shared with all the other members of the Eastern Bloc. Accepting defeat isn't easy and it brings back memories she would have rather kept buried.
Relationships: Hungary/Prussia (Hetalia)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 46





	Morgenstern

**Author's Note:**

> I have finally managed to finish this project that has eluded me for too much time. It was so emotionally draining to write this, but I think it's my fault for picking such an intense historical period. 
> 
> Oh well. I hope you like it.

Blood was a familiar taste in her mouth.

The first time she felt it, metallic and tangy on her tongue, it had been because she fell off her horse and bashed her nose against the ground. Her men picked her up and wiped her face, wiped the blood off her lips and the tears off her face and told her to hang on tighter. Something in her chest had hurt far more than the split lip and the broken nose.

Bruised pride, it had been bruised pride and shame and embarrassment. In retrospect, it was so easy to pinpoint. 

She had been so young then, riding on horseback next to Attila. They called her Hun and they called him the _Scourge of God_ and they were beating at the gates of Rome and Europe trembled in front of them. 

_“We won’t bow down in front of anyone, my little one.”_ He told her one night, when they were sitting around a fire with generals and seasoned warriors. Attila had been dressed in his leathers and furs, with his bow and arrows across his back and the Sword of God in his hand.

He had dropped down on one knee in front of his young Nation, _“I will be your champion, and I’ll make you great. We won’t be chained as dogs to any master, we’ll be warriors and we’ll forge our own path. They’ll talk about us for a thousand years, and then a thousand years more._ ”

Attila died in his tent on his wedding night, choking on his own blood. 

Sometimes in her nightmares, Hungary tasted blood in her mouth and thought about her champion that promised her greatness. She had taken Attila’s promise to her and placed it at the core of her being, she took his words and branded them on her damn bones _. We won’t bow down to anyone. We won’t be chained as dogs to any master._

Her people knew it too, they felt it inside just like she did, the vibration of freedom and the taste of blood, their own blood that was spilled in _so many_ revolutions, again and again. Either you die fighting for freedom or you live like a dog, and she wasn’t a damn dog.

She felt it now too, the wails and screams and the frustration, it was boiling in all the cells in her body, as she was being dragged back to Russia’s house by Soviet soldiers. One of them had a tight grip on her arm, while the other Soldiers was keeping his Mosin Rifle close.

What did they think would happen, if they shot her? It’s not like she could _die_ by human standards, and pain she was familiar with.

Pain, pain, pain – pain was already coursing through her body everywhere.

Her nose was broken – again.

Her lip was split – again.

Her bones hurt and her ribs ached and her heart hurt and her stomach was full of poison and anger made her teeth gnash together.

In Budapest, the Soviets still weren’t done butchering her people. They came in with _tanks_ after they promised her they would _not_ intervene – Russia _lied to her._ Bring fucking tanks to shoot students.

She could feel it in her cells like cancer spreading. The Soviets were arresting people and they were setting them up to be judged for the crime of wanting to be free. The fucking tanks weren’t enough of an example – they wanted to humiliate her and squash any other thoughts of rebellion out of her and any other countries that might have been watching.

They brought her in front of the huge, looming Soviet household. Hungary looked up at the huge eyesore that it was. As big as Schonnbrun had been but lacking any form of beauty, cold and dark and oppressing as it was to her. Schonnbrun had been a beautiful gilded cage in which she even managed to feel at home from time to time.

The big house that Russia built was nothing like Austria’s palaces, it was a place in which the KGB spied on your every move and Russia’s boss saw them all as little more than pawns. The lack of respect for who they were, what they represented – it made her stomach turn. Russia himself was treated as a glorious figurehead, but they all knew the truth: for his bosses, Russia didn’t matter.

As she walked up front steps of the house, with the barrel of the Mosin rifle pressing against her back, she thought back to Attila and wondered if Stalin or Khrushchev ever knelt in front of Russia to promise him greatness. She had met Stalin and saw the way Russia bowed his head in front of him. Hungary doubted kindness and reassurances came from a man like that.

In front of the great big door of the house, she stopped dead in her tracks and refused to budge. The soldier pushed the rifle in her back with more force, but she wasn’t going to move. Hungary held up her wrists and jingled the handcuff that had been placed there.

“Uncuff me first,” she told them in Russian. The soldiers glared at her and shoved the rifle again, but she stood her ground. “Look, you brought me here. This place is secure, what power do I have here?” The point of the handcuff was to humiliate her further, that was the point, she knew it, though she wasn’t going to let this indignation pass without fighting against it.

The soldiers started barking at her in Russian, caused a damn scene in front of the house, and she thought for a second that they might drag her inside regardless. However, she was saved when the front door opened and Ukraine’s worried face came into view.

“Oh, you’ve arrived. You managed to bring back Miss Hungary, thank god. I was so worried.” Ukraine had a very pretty face, and big blue eyes that always looked sad and scared. Whether those eyes were turned to Nations or humans, the result was the same – men tended to be more gentle, more understanding, they lowered their voice and they were more inclined to listen to her. You don’t make a pretty woman upset.

Hungary saw how the Soviets melted in front of her, took of their caps and stood a little straighter. It made her scoff and when Ukraine’s gaze turned to her, she stuck up her nose.

Ukraine was a nice, gentle soul and she was one of blessings of this shit hole she was forced to live in. Ukraine put herself in front of them, in front of Russia’s childish anger and his tantrums, she soothed Belarus’s edges, she made herself a friend. But she was still Russia’s sister, she was still Soviet; she was sweet and kind and tried to mend things, but in this one moment Hungary resented her, resented all of them for standing by and letting this happen.

_What were they supposed to do?_

It was Austria’s – no. It was _Roderich’s_ voice in her head, urging her to see reason.

_What were they supposed to do, Erzsi? Follow you on a fool’s quest, get themselves beaten up like you did? You knew it was futile._

She wanted to scream.

_Something, something, they could have done something. Anything._

But the soothing monotone speaking to her in Vienna German asked her one thing.

_What?_

Fuck if she knew. _Something._

Ukraine was talking to the soldiers, asking them things like, “Oh, where are your parents from?” and “Is your mother doing alright? Do you need anything? Do you want some food?”

They were so wrapped up in her presence that when Ukraine asked, _“Do you think it’s possible to get her out of those handcuffs? I’m sure she won’t be any trouble.”_ they listened to her and took off Hungary’s handcuffs. Just like that.

Ukraine regarded her in silence for a few moments, while the men turned around and left. Hungary _felt_ the pity, the worry and the sorrow, felt all of them in Ukraine’s gaze as she was staring at Hungary’s bloody and bruised face. It made those old feelings come back – the shame and the embarrassment and the bleeding, pulsing pride.

“Come inside, Hungary, it’s cold out here and you’re hurt.”

She didn’t say anything, walked passed Ukraine with her back as straight as her aching body would allow it. Ukraine closed the door and walked after her in the foyer.

“Where is he?” Hungary demanded, turning to the other woman.

“We should get you cleaned up first, and then…” Ukraine told her with a soft, motherly smile, but Hungary’s anger roared.

“Fuck that. Where is he? I want to see that lying bastard you call brother.”

“Hungary, please…” Ukraine sighed and lowered her voice, “You’re bleeding.” Her lip was still bleeding sluggishly and so was her nose, but she didn’t care.

Russia didn’t like to see them like that – all battered and bruised. He liked the idea that they were all one big happy family and seeing a bruised face would remind him that it was all a lie they were forced into by his regime. Hungary wanted to take a mallet to that illusion and shatter it in front of him.

If his boss was willing to send fucking tanks into Budapest to shoot against students, then Russia could face the consequences of it and see them splattered across her face. _Look, you did this to me by not stopping him, you allowed this happen._ It wasn’t fucking fair for him to hide behind ideas of _The Great Soviet Family_ like a damn coward.

“It’s dinner time with the family, isn’t it?” She challenged Ukraine, already heading down the hallway that led into the official dining room. “I’ll see myself, I know the way.” Ukraine started hurrying behind her, urging her to reconsider, but Hungary refused.

She couldn’t stop, she couldn’t let this pass. Anger and righteous fury coursed through her blood, she was dizzy drunk on pain and she felt the rage and sorrow and heartache of her people in her head, burning like hard liquor on an empty stomach.

Hungary threw open the doors of the dining room and they smashed against the walls with satisfying violence. She stepped inside and all those familiar faces turned to her. There was noise and gasps and whispers, but she stood straight and proud and glared at Russia.

Ukraine came in after her, already starting to mumble apologies on her behalf,

“Brother, I tried, but she demanded to speak with you now and….”

Russia got up from his seat at the head of the table and raised a hand to stop Ukraine.

“It’s fine, sister.” He addressed Ukraine, but he had his eyes on Hungary when he started walking towards her.

God, he was big. He towered over all of them and he was more powerful than anyone else in Europe. Coming closer and closer, but Hungary wasn’t about to let herself get cowed into submission.

She held her ground, looked him dead in the eyes, kept her back ramrod straight and her nose turned up, even though her fists were clenched at her sides and she felt a tremor of fear going through her.

Life with Austria had thought her all about posturing and how important it was to give off the right attitude. Life at Schonnbrun always meant navigating politics and intrigue, and you needed to keep your chest puffed and let whisper run off your skin like water off the back of a damn duck. She was scared of Russia, but she knew better than to show weakness.

Austria made her walk with books stacked on her head and taught her how to look at people – with your head high and your eyelids lowers slightly, you look at them over the tip of your nose and you quirk your lips, you scoff, you huff. You remind them that even if you’re beaten, they best care not to forget what you are – _imperial._ She certainly didn’t feel imperial anymore, if she ever did, but it didn’t matter. Hungary had learned to play imperial from days.

All the other nations were present, but they could all feel Russia’s menacing presence, the cold fury that was brewing and the disappointment and dissatisfaction coming off of him in waves. They knew better than to get in the way.

‘’Miss Hungary, I’m glad to see you were brought back” Russia said that with that disturbingly childish voice of his. It was followed by a giggle. “I see your little excursion in Budapest didn’t turn out as well as you expected.” That made her grit her teeth at him.

She wanted to hit him but she doubted it would make any sort of difference, Russia would hardly feel her. Hungary took a pained lungful of air and felt a loose molar with her tongue. Physical force was useless against him, but she had other options.

_If you can’t beat them on the battlefield, you can always try negotiations._

Hungary was shit at negotiating.

“Yes. I’m back. Just in time for dinner, isn’t it?” And with that, she wanted to walk past him and take a seat at the table. She had no grand plan about how this was all supposed to work, but she was going to figure it out along the way.

She took one step to the side, and then another, and then she was stopped by a large hand wrapping itself around her arm. It made Hungary wince, she couldn’t keep that one off her face. The pressure of Russia’s fingers was punishing and bruising, and his grip was a warning.

“You’re not seating at my table like that. You look terrible, I don’t want anyone to think this is the kind of household I’m keeping.”

She could see the others sitting at the table – she saw Lithuania shaking his head at her and Belarus regarding her with cool disinterest. Romania was looking intently at his empty plate and refused to raise his eyes. She saw Poland hit Prussia, put a hand on his shoulder and push him forward, urging him to get between Hungary and Russia.

Prussia only started at her – their eyes met dead on. He looked equal parts horrified and curious, but he knew better than to whisk her away like Ukraine had tried. He held her gaze and she remembered, suddenly, the Wars.

The War of Austrian Succession. The Napoleonic Wars. The Seven Years War and the Seven Weeks War. The Great War. The wars, all the wars, all _their_ wars where Austria came to her and asked her to don her Military Uniform, asked her to pick up arms and march on the battlefield. All those damn wars, and Gilbert – he was something close to a demon on the damn battlefield, single-minded and ruthlessly efficient.

She remembered when she caught him by his throat and pulled him of his horse, when she started punching him in the face until her fist hurt. He didn’t hit back, he didn’t, he took her punches and each time he turned back to look at her, held her gaze and _grinned_.

Prussia was like that – _Gilbert_ was like that. You could hit him until your fists hurt and he turned to you and grinned, with his teeth all bloody and his face bruised, he grinned like he was goading you on, _Is this the best you got? Is that all you’re capable of doing? You need to do better than that, Hungary._

It was so infuriating, the damn swagger and overconfidence, it made you feel like you weren’t good enough even when you won. She remembered how it felt like, how angry she was because he refused to look beaten even when he was.

“What kind of household are you keeping, Russia? How I see it, this is exactly it.” She was still looking at Prussia and saw the emotions play out on his face, saw how he tensed when she goaded Russia and it made a smile flicker over her lips.

“You’re being disrespectful, Hungary. Should be more careful – you don’t want to do this to yourself again, do you?”

His grip on her arm tightened minutely and then he let go. Oh, great merciful Russia – such sage advice he gave. They all know how important it was for him to be feel like he was being respected by the other nations he took in.

Fuck that.

Hungary turned to him. This close, she had to strain her neck to look up at him.

“You did this to me. You let them do this to me. ”

“ _Nyet_ , Hungary. You did it to yourself. You were going against your best interests and my people had to stop you. The Soviet Army did you a favor.”

Her tongue was still working at the loose molar, each time she pushed at it there was fresh new trickle of blood in her mouth. The back of her throat was all globs of snot and blood coming from her wounded nose.

_The Soviet Army did you a favor._

“Do you expect me to be grateful for this?” she motioned towards her face.

Realistically speaking, Hungary was aware that Russia wasn’t the cause of this. He was the figure head of a rotten regime, but Ivan wasn’t the one that pulled he from the streets of Budapest by her hair – it was the Army. It wasn’t him that Ordered the massacre of her people – it was his boss.

But Hungry couldn’t hurt Khrushchev, she couldn’t touch any of the thousand soldiers that had invaded her. She didn’t matter to those people and they were only a blink in her radar. They didn’t perceive her as anything other than a random mouthy woman.

Her feelings were roaring and raging inside her like a winter storm, like the sound of horses across the steps, like arrows flying around her head.

“Da, you should be grateful for my protection.” Russia said to her, the tone of his voice clashing with the pitch of it.

Hungary closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose. Her ribcage hurt as her lungs expanded, she breathed out slowly, slowly, forced her body to relax its defensive stance. She cocked her hip to the side and unclenched her jaw. When Hungary opened her eyes again, she looked Russia straight in the face.

She spit a mouthful of blood and snot and saliva into his face.

Several things happened all at once then –

Russia was taken by surprise and took several steps back, his hand raising to his face to wipe away at it. He looked at the gooey stain of blood on his glove like he had no idea what it was, until it clicked in his head and suddenly he was _angry._

Hungary took a step back as well, perfectly aware that she was seconds away from another impediment disaster of her own making. However, when she was screaming and shouting on the streets of Budapest, she didn’t feel anything but strength and righteousness and anger. Now? There was fear, fear she hoped would be kept off her face because if Russia wanted to hurt her she wasn’t going to allow him the satisfaction of showing him she was afraid of the pain he could inflict.

There was commotion around them, she heard chairs falling the ground as nations rushed to sit up from their chairs.

It was a few seconds worth of information, but it all happened so slowly for her, like she was seeing it from the outside. Russia took precisely one step in her direction before Ukraine jumped in the front of Hungary, putting herself before Russia’s anger.

“Step aside, sister,” Russia told her, low and menacing and without any pretense of friendliness. Ukraine held her ground, spread her hands open and locked eyes with her brother.

“ _Nyet_ , _Vanya_. This is not you.”

And Hungary had seen Russia stop a damn German tank with his bare hands, she’d seen how powerful he was. She also saw how he treated his sisters – when Belarus demanded his attention or clung to him, he simply picked her up and set her aside like she weighted nothing. He could move Ukraine without missing a breath.

Something else happened.

Ukraine’s big blue eyes had that sort of magic to them and they worked on everyone, but they worked on Russia best. Her voice was lovely and soft and soothing, had that gentleness that spoke of family and love and bedtime stories. And Hungary saw how the anger on this face was flared and then saw it retreating, saw his shoulders relaxing.

Hungary was very, _very_ grateful for Ukraine.

She didn’t have any time to contemplate what was going to happen next, because before Russia collected himself enough so speak, Prussia grabbed her hand and started pulling her along after him.

“Do not walk away from me,” Russia yelled after them,

“Vanya, leave them alone! She’s been through enough!”

“I don’t see why you _too_ have to disrespect brother like that, Big Sister? Am I the only one in this family that knows the meaning of respect?”

“Like _, oh my god_ , Bela, you need to like, shut up.”

“Who gave you permission to talk, Poland?”

There was mess of shouts from all directions as Prussia pulled her out of the dining room and into the hallway. Normally, Hungary would protest out of sheer spite against this, she wasn’t going to let herself be dragged anywhere, certainly not by Prussia. Who did he think he was?

But she was tired. She felt dazed and pained and _wrong_ , walking down the looming corridor. One foot in front of another, she stared at the back of Prussia’s head and the tense lines of his shoulders. His hand holding hers – her gaze dropped to look at their hands together and Hungary…

The anger had burned out for now and it left her empty and shaken, dizzy and floating after too much adrenaline went away just like that. And there Prussia holding her hand, _Gilbert_ holding her hand and pulling her along with him .

It was real and solid and familiar, _so familiar_. She knew him from one thousand other moments and she could recognize his grips and the pressure of his fingers anywhere.

“Prussia?” She started, but then she realized she could feel the wound on her lip.

“Don’t talk, Hungary, you’re going to make that wound worse. Come on, those need…” then he stopped in his tracks and turned around to look at her. His red eyes scanned her face and she saw him wince in sympathy. “They need to get cleaned up.”

He led her back to his bedroom – it was a small and dark and very sparsely decorated, but impeccably clean. Ever the soldier, there was nothing out of place. She would almost smile. Hungary set down heavily on his bed and let herself fall backwards unto the mattress.

The ceiling above was boringly white, but because Prussia didn’t turn on the light, it looked a blue-grey – the sun had already set and the very little light that was coming from outside was throwing menacing shadows across the walls.

Prussia disappeared in the bathroom and came back with supplies to help clean her face. The thought of sanitary alcohol and iodine made her cringe, but he made no movement to start that grueling process. She heard him sigh and set down everything on the night table next to the bed.

Prussia sat next to her in bed and didn’t say a word. He regarded Hungary in silence for a few minutes and her own mind was mercifully free of any sort of thoughts. A military car passed outside and the headlights were reflected in the room. They shone through the window and they cast a sharp shadow over Prussia’s face.

Sometimes his face was like that – too hard, too pale, too sharp, too toothy, too _much_. In a certain light he was handsome, but most often he looked dangerous and hungry for something she couldn’t make out. And sometimes he looked at her like he was looking at her now, desperate and sad and angry, all rolled into one.

Prussia leaned over her and put his open palm under her neck, urged her to sit up even though she grit her teeth through the pain of it. He didn’t say anything to her, though his hands were gentle as they picked up a clean, wet cloth and started wiping dried blood off her face.

She found she couldn’t look at him straight in the eye, so she focused her gaze somewhere below, but never leaving his face. Hungary traced the contours of his cheekbones with her gaze, took in the dark circles under his eyes, counted barely there freckles and the laugh lines. They had been in the same position multiple times in the past and she knew his face, knew it so well, knew how it moved and how it came alive.

When he deemed her clean enough, he set aside the wet cloth and picked up cotton buds, dipped them in antiseptic and pressed them against her torn lip. She hissed at the sting of it and she twitched, pulled herself out of his reach only slightly. Prussia leveled her with a stern gaze, and glared back at him. His response was to put a hand against her jaw and move turn her face towards him again – the movement was careful and slow and she allowed it. His thumb against her jaw was rubbing soothing circles over her skin.

“Hungary.”

She didn’t answer him, so Prussia cradled her face in both his palms and pressed his forehead against hers. His eyes bore into hers and he forced her to look back at him, like he was searching for something inside the green of hers. Hungary had nothing to hide so she accepted the challenge head on.

His brow furrowed but he huffed, a puff of air that washed over her mouth. Amused and a little bit mean, Prussia rubbed their noses together and closed his eyes, breathed her in while saying,

“You’re a damn mess, _Süße_ ”

“Oh, fuck you, asshole.” She threw back at him, split lip stinging because of the grin on her face.

It made him laugh and it made her close the distance between them. She pressed her mouth against him more carefully than she was used to, ran her tongue over his lips and licked into his mouth so she could taste him. Hungary felt him sigh, felt something between them loosening up, like the wall that was keeping everything sealed away and safe was collapsing.

Safety and gentleness and carefulness were quickly left behind as Hungary bit his lip hard. Her fingers had bruised knuckles and they stung when she fisted them in his hair, pulled him closer, crawled in his lap and straddled him. It took him by surprise, but he was quick to adapt, he tightened his hands around her waist and helped steady her.

There was something inside her that was roaring, painfully, with heavy sobs and thundering heartbeats. It refused to be soothed, it demanded the same fire and rage. Hungary rarely got the chance to demand things for herself anymore – it was always someone else that had to take decisions for her, for Prussia, for all of them. Always someone else.

So when she was kissing Prussia and fisting her hands in his hair, when she was grabbing and pulling at his shirt to rip it off his body, when she was biting in the pale column of his throat to leave marks and bruises on him – lust was a distant fire, but it was possession and need and anger and frustration and all this helplessness that poured out of her in kiss after kiss after kiss.

Prussia was always good, Prussia was always great, because he burned and raged and angered just the same and wanted and needed just as much as she did, so he matched her kiss for kiss and bite for bite, traded bruises and licks and moans with her. The familiarity of his body and how he felt against her, it helped her come back to herself and to her sense of space.

“ _Fuck me_.” She whispered against his mouth.

He pulled her tightly against his body and pressed his palms against her back, forced her to curve her spine and push her breast against him. Prussia buried his face in the curve of her neck, nuzzled the skin there. She tightened her legs around his middle, ground against him and felt how hard he was for her even through the layers of fabric separating them.

Her hips wiggled in his lap and his hand moved downward, Prussia pushed his fingers beneath the waist band of her pants and grabbed her ass. Hungary gasped and started unbuttoning her shirt with jerky movements. Prussia took her by surprise when he grabbed the flesh of her upper arms, pushed her off his lap and onto the mattress below. Suddenly she found herself on her back, with him hovering over her and grinning boyishly.

“I have you where I want you, _Erzsi_ ,” He said, lowering his head to nip at skin of her newly exposed breasts.

“You might as well make yourself useful then,” She said – she meant for it to sound haughty and cool, but it came off as being amused, laughter bubbling beneath the surface and smile tugging at her lips.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked her, pushing her unbuttoned shirt to the sides and kissing his way across her abdomen. Hungary felt all the bruises she had there, all black and blue and purple, stinging and smarting and coming alive with each kiss he dropped on her skin.

He was being very gentle.

Sometimes he was much too gentle with her.

She was always torn between resenting his gentleness and sobbing into it with grateful surrender. Hungary never really knew what she was supposed to want from him, spent so much time wondering what he wanted from her, how he wanted her.

Back when they were young she didn’t ask any sort of questions – she just was.

But then she grew up and people suddenly wanted her, but they only wanted her in very specific circumstances, wanted only certain things about her and tried to get rid of the rest.

She had all these moments in which she got absolutely lost in the things people wanted her to be.

Be a lady, be pretty, be demure. Be ladylike. Be poised.

Be a servant, be respectful, be polite.

Be a warrior, but only when they ask it of you.

Be a wife.

Be respectful and courteous.

Accept your place – you lost a war and you don’t get to choose what happens to you.

Be communist. Learn Russian.

Be grateful. 

“Undress me.” She ordered him.

Prussia unbuttoned her pants and pulled them off her, along with her panties. Her thighs were opened for him, and he wasted no time in going straight for her cunt. He gave her a long, wide lick from her slit to her clit, wrapped his lips around the little nub of flesh and pushed two fingers inside her, pressing and twisting just the way she liked it.

He had been the first person to ever learn how to make her cum, and he was still the most proficient at it. Something about learned habits, maybe – they had learned it together, all the ways in which they were supposed to bring each other off, and maybe it was because of that, because of nostalgia, because her body remembered him, because no matter how much time passed….

Be this, be that, be whatever a woman is supposed to be.

Be whatever a small country on the losing end of history is supposed to be.

And sometimes she welcomed it.

Wedding gown and walking through Schonnbrun on Austria’s arm, on her wedding day, she wanted to be whatever he wanted of her.

And she tried, she really tried to be that for him. Get lost in the illusions. She tried to be that for Roderich, she tried until she was smothered away by the weight of it and all the resentment and anger and wild fury came bursting out of her.

And she couldn’t, she couldn’t be that good woman, not even for Roderich, and Erzsebet had wanted Roderich fiercely and hopelessly and she just ended up resenting him and resenting herself in the end.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ” her voice sounded breathless and raw when she shouted and Gilbert’s mouth kept licking and sucking her clit, his fingers kept pushing and pressing and twisting.

She tightened her legs around his head and her muscles spasmed around his fingers, she came and came and he kept going. Back taunt and chest heaving. Eyes shut and throat hurting. Belly full of hot white pleasure and full of anger.

He kept his fingers inside her, but came up to her level to kiss her mouth. Hungary tasted herself on his tongue and his wet lips and she wanted him to fuck her so badly, she wanted Gilbert to fuck this terrible helpless anger out of her and she wanted to remind herself what it was like to believe that she was powerful.

“What do you want, Erzsi, _Süße,_ what do you want me do to?”

“I want you to stop asking me shit, Gilbert.” She grabbed a handful of the shit he was still wearing and pulled him to her, buried her face in the crook of his neck. Bit his neck. Her hips moved against the fingers inside her, she was fucking herself against his hand.

He laughed, and he sounded desperate and rough and she wanted to punch him. Gilbert’s smile was burned in the back of her eyes, she could recognize him out of a thousand others.

Gilbert was an arrogant, cocky bastard. Gilbert laughed at her and told her she was a mess, but he was no better. He was a mess and he was just like her, he hated and raged and resented himself just as much as she did. Gilbert’s anger was the stuff of legends and so was hers, and his goddamn smile cut right through her.

 _You’ll never be what they want you to be,_ he had told her, cold and vicious and resentful, while she was dressed in her goddamn wedding dress on the day of her marriage, _You’ll never be anything else but a little horseback riding punk, not matter how much want to play at being good little woman_.

She had punched him in the nose and went to her marriage bed with bruised knuckles. She had to re-learned how to come with Roderich, because her body was instinctively used to someone else’s cock.

“I know what you want, Erzsi. You want me to make you come again.”

She tightened her fingers around the fabric of his shirt grit her teeth. His fingers were relentless, twisting and pressing into her, making stars burst in the back of her head. Pressure was building at the base of her spine, it felt like a punching her way through the streets of Budapest, like shooting arrows off the back of a horse, like riding next to Attila through the fields.

Coming for him was like being handed a sword and pointed at a target. Her thighs were trembling and heart was hammering and she wanted to shout in pleasure for everyone to hear her.

“I want you to fuck me until I forget my name.” She told him, breathless and shaking and needy. Erzsebet clung to Gilbert and she wanted to crawl inside his ribcage.

Her chest hurt with the kind of pain that had nothing to do with the physical. There was no release from this sort of burden that had started gathering there years ago and kept building and building. Sometimes it was so hard to breathe, and she thought her chest was going to give out because of the pressure, but Hungary was determined fight tooth and nail for any amount of pleasure she could steal for herself.

“I can do that.” He said with an incredulous laugh in his voice, like he was surprised about to hear her ask it of him. He fumbled with his pants and pulled them down clumsily.

Hungary couldn’t keep her hands to herself, she grabbed a handful of his buttocks and pulled him closer to her. She felt his cock pressing against her, between her labia, where she was wet and slick and swollen.

Prussia leaned over her and pressed their foreheads together, started right into her eyes as pushed inside of her. Hungary welcomed him like she always did, with a gasp and a sigh, ankles crossed at the small of his back, pulling him as deep as she could. There was no more space between her bodies and she felt perfectly full.

Prussia cupped her cheeks, ran his thumb over the thin skin beneath her eyes and rolled his hips, making both of them moan and shudder all over. It felt so familiar and so good, her body was opened for him and sucking him inside. He chased after the warmth and tightness of her with the sort of desperation that was meant for men running back home after the war.

No matter what else happened between them, no matter how much doom and gloom was surrounding them, when they were together like this, it was like their bodies knew how to slot together perfectly and shut them inside this little bubble where the world was bright and hot and dirty. Their lovemaking was always a little too frantic and a bit too desperate, like it was something they both gave into only when they were stretched to the very limits of who they were.

It was in moments such as this, when one of them was beaten down, when emotions were bubbling too close to the surface, when there was a torrent hot blazing heat running through their veins. When one or both of them where stripped down of all the pretenses and play acting they set up for themselves; when both of them were laid bare and force to admit what they were, at their core: two dirty little punks that had been born in the mud and sweat and blood and filth of the battlefield and never learned how to feel at home anywhere else.

When she first arrived in Vienna, Hungary’s hands had been rough enough to catch in silk.

And Prussia understood all the things she didn’t want to admit about herself.

He fucked her with this reckless sort of abandonment which she loved about him, which she had always loved, because he never did anything in half measures; and it made her feel as if was still important and powerful and worth the fight. Gilbert kissed her and kissed her and kissed her, and their hips were grinding into each other, she wanted him to come undone for her and wanted to put him back together, she wanted to let herself fall apart in his arms because she trusted him to know what to do with her afterwards.

Pain and pleasure where things that burned and scorched, their ebb and flow coursing through her until it was an incomprehensible mixture of heat roaring inside of her. Her stinging lips, her bruises, the soreness of her muscles – it worked beautifully in tandem with Gilbert moving within her, hitting her in all the right places and making her mewl and shout.

Gilbert looked like he was completely lost in the feel of her body, dizzy drunk and chanting her name like he was praying. He came inside her and shouted his release, all happy and victorious and glowing with inner fire. It tipped her over the edge too, feeling him twitch and spasm inside of her, felt like both of them had been drowning and they managed to break through the surface of the water together.

Her lungs weren’t her lungs anymore, they were these things filled to the brim with boiling sugar, her muscles and her bones felt like bursting and her heart was too full and too small handle everything she was feeling. She collapsed into herself and Hungary – _Erzsebet_ – she was left with a head full of warm honey in which _Gilbert_ was the only coherent thought that made its way out of the glowy sticky sweetness.

She opened her eyes to look at him, and there he was, hovering above her, muscles strained and arms shaking, breath coming out in ragged puff like it was hurting him. Like he felt it too, the scorching air, the ruined lungs, the parched throat. _Let me ruin you and I’ll let you return the favor,_ that was the sort of love someone like Gilbert promised, and sometimes it scared her, the realization of it.

Hungary reached out and cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand. He nuzzled into her touch, desperate for contact and it made her smile at him so wide her split lip hurt, her cheeks hurt, her eyes stung. There were moments like this one when Gilbert looked at her with this sort of wonder and pride that should be reserved for crowning emperors and proclaiming empires.

Prussia smiled, chuckled and then he started laughing like she hadn’t heard him laugh since they started living with Russia, let himself fall on top of her and she felt the vibrations of his body in her marrow. He was contagious and infectious in his happiness, and she started laughing too. He was heavy and sweaty and her ribs hurt, but she felt lighter than she had in a long time. Normal, or what had been normal a long time ago.

“We’re still good at this, _Süße,_ aren’t we?” He asked between chuckles.

“Get off of me, you animal, you’re crushing me.” She shot back, but Hungary was more than happy to feel his weight on top of her, felt safe when their bodies were so close that they were a tangle of limbs and you couldn’t tell where one them ended and the other started.

No one laughed like Gilbert and no one fucked like Gilbert either. No one looked at her like Gilbert and when she was like this, with all her walls torn down, she could admit it to herself – no one made her feel like Gilbert either, like he wanted her exactly as she was, warts and scars and bruises and calluses and all. It was a heady feeling and she got drunk on the pleasure of it.

It was a mortifying and excruciatingly painful process, to let herself be judged and known. It was a mortifying and excruciating process to get to know herself and judge whether she liked what she was or not. But Gilbert knew her.

He rolled off of her and settled on his side, reached out a hand and settled it against her throat, pressed his fingers against her pulse point.

“Does it still hurt?” Prussia asked her after several minutes of silence.

Hungary closed her eyes and tried gauge how she was feeling, to check for _wrong_ or _bad_ , but there was nothing that felt immediate.

“I don’t know.” She answered him truthfully. “I’m fine now, but…”

“I know, I _know_.”

“Yeah.” She sighed and rubbed her face. “I don’t know about later.”

Prussia nodded at her and started running his fingers through her hair. Hungary usually hated when people did that, her hair was rarely tame and never silky.

For a long time, she had thought it was because no one ever thought her how she was supposed to style it. Warriors and servants don’t need nice hair. When she had been married to Austria, though, she had all these ladies fawning over her and helping her tame it – none of them succeeded. Her hair was too coarse for it. It was always tangled.

However, she felt sated and tired and well fucked, mellow enough to let herself caressed and enjoy the attention. Hungary closed her eyes felt like she was on the edge of sleep, when Prussia’s voice broke through the hazy fog in her head.

“What were you thinking, Erzsi?”

“I wasn’t.” She answered with her eyes closed, and it made him chuckle.

“Yeah, you weren’t.”

“I definitely wasn’t.”

“It felt good though, didn’t it?”

Hungary blinked and turned to look at him. Prussia was looking at her with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, pride and want in his eyes, it made her want to admit things she wouldn’t normally admit to herself.

“Yeah, it felt really good.” There was something she was afraid to say, but it felt important to say it to him, because if anyone would understand, it would be Prussia. Hungary turned on her side and when she started talking, it was in hushed tones, “I think I did it for myself, not for…” If you wanted to share a secret, this was the perfect time to do it. But it got caught in her throat.

“Not for your people.” He wouldn’t let her hide from it.

“Not for my people, no.” She ran her tongue over her dry lips, wondered if it made her a bad Nation, if she was selfish. “I wanted to feel…”

“Powerful.” He finished for her.

“Powerful.”

She had missed it, so desperately – the fighting, the brawling, the _revolt._ The violence. The self-righteous satisfaction of punching her way through enemy soldiers.

Prussia’s fingers tightened in her hair and pulled her close, closer than they were. He crushed their lips together and pushed his tongue inside her mouth, kissed her ferociously.

She knew he that he craved it too, sometimes. They were both old and even though they were tired of war, even though they were tired of fighting, both of them had been born with it in their bones and sometimes they missed it.

It made her feel bad, ashamed of herself, that she would want such a thing. 

Prussia understood, though, and sometimes Hungary hated him for reflecting it back at her.

Austria never did, sometimes she would have given anything to be like him.

Hungary broke away from the kiss, but Prussia didn’t want to let her go. He kept pressing short, rough pecks against her lips, against the side of her mouth, her jaw, her throat. Against the side of her throat, he pressed his mouth where the skin was the most sensitive and blew a raspberry.

The tickling sensation made her yelp loudly and push at him chest, but he didn’t let he go. The damned man started laughing and did it again and again, making her squirm and laugh.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it. _You asshole_.” But she was snorting inelegantly between words.

“Who are you calling an asshole? I have you at my mercy and you’re insulting me?” His voice was full of teasing amusement, though, and he let go of her. “I can feel the doom and gloom radiating off of you, Hungary. ” Prussia said to her – there was still an underlying amusement there, but it was trying to mask the seriousness of it.

“I keep thinking….” She started, and abruptly sat up. Hungary winced when all her muscles protested against her sudden movement, but she got up on shaky legs and walked over to the window. Her thighs were rubbing together, and she could feel the slickness between them, could feel semen sluggishly running down.

She didn’t mind it, not really; it made her feel a little dirty and perverted, but along with the slight soreness that came with sex after a long period of abstinence, it just served to remind of her what had happened between them. It sent a shiver down her spine and she looked over her shoulder at Prussia, wondered how soon was too soon to go for another round.

Was she horny? Not really.

Did she feel the need to have sex again? Not really.

But she _wanted_ _to,_ because losing herself in the act was better than to looking outside the window, into the Russian night. Existential dread was a French import that the Russians perfected, but it wasn’t something the Hungarians were willing to indulge in.

It was early November, so no snow yet, but it had started raining outside. Depending on how cold the night got, they might get a thin layer of ice come morning. There was always the chance that Russia could step outside and slip on the steps of his house, fall on his ass and get a huge bruise on it. It would serve him well.

Prussia got out of bed to follow her, he stepped behind her and put an arm around her chest, pulled her back and made her rest against his chest. She sighed as she forced herself to relax against him, closed her eyes. Hungary let her head fall back against his shoulder and his fingers went up to rest against her throat, caressing the pulsing artery and skin behind her ear.

“I keep thinking about the war.” She confessed.

“Which war? You have to be more specific.” He kept his voice surreptitiously light, but Hungary could feel him tense at the mention of the war. Prussia knew exactly which war she was referring to. 

Behind her closed eyelids, there was a memory getting projected across them, in full technicolor with sounds and smells and feelings rumbling deep in her belly.

June in 1941 had been hot and smoldering in Budapest, the air had been thick and humid. She had been in home at the time and she was sweating through her clothes and struggling to keep her composure, felt sick to her stomach and vomiting anything she put in her mouth. Her newly expanded territory felt diseased, like he was poisoning her bloodstream.

All the other wars, it had been Austria that took it upon himself to ask her – _Will you fight this war with me?_

This time, it was Prussia.

Prussia dressed in the uniform of the Third Fucking Reich, looking worn out and tired and angry, cigarette in one hand running his hands through his hair. He had looked terrible in black, and she told him so.

“You know which war I’m talking about.” Hungary told him, voice tense and curt.

_It’s just a fucking uniform, Erzsi. It’s a fucking uniform and it’s just a fucking war, I haven’t missed one since I’ve been born. They can dress me however they fucking please._

They had sent Prussia to summon Hungary because Germany’s boss was so frustrated by her reluctance to join them in their dreadful war.

Erzsebet hadn’t believed him, she saw right through his act, at how worried and anxious and frightened Gilbert was about the war, this war in particular. The Erzsebet from back then took out her flask full of _palinka_ and took a swing out of it, held it out to him and confessed something that she wouldn’t have been able to tell another soul.

_They frighten me._

Both of them had understood who the _they_ in question were. Russia. _Germany._ Their leaders.

Russia had always been frightening, always a force to be reckoned with.

Germany, however – Germany had been the little boy that she had loved to bits – in the space between two heartbeats, he had grown from a little serious child into a tall, powerful young man that was frighteningly strong, and his leaders had poured poison into his ears until they convinced him war was the _only possible solution._ She couldn’t even pin point it, the moment in which the Ludwig she knew turned into this seemingly unstoppable force of destruction.

Prussia had seen through the core of her fear, looked her right in the face and told her she didn’t have to come, she could pull out of this particular war if she felt like it was too much for her. And she had been tempted, she had been really, really tempted to take her troops and march right back to Budapest, consequences be damned. Hungary had seen many wars, but none of them had felt so… _wrong._

For a wild minute, she contemplated what it would be like to sit at home, safe and sound from the bombs and machine guns and the tanks, away from the horrible Russian winter, away from the carnage.

It had been Gilbert that came to her and offered her a choice – _You can stay here. You don’t have to come with me. I’ll think about something to tell them, we’ll figure it out, but you don’t have to follow me into this war, Erzsi._

And Hungary realized that Prussia wasn’t embarking on a war on the Eastern Front because he thought it was _right_ , he was doing it because if he refused, they would send _Ludwig._

And Prussia was not willing to let Germany go through the terrible, frosty hellscape that was war on the Eastern Front. Might as well endure all the shit that came with it. And that kind of shit was intense, it was the kind of shit had could crack you open like an egg, Germany was still so _young_ and Gilbert didn’t want to see his little brother go through that.

The realization of it had broken her heart completely.

“Do you regret it?” Prussia asked her, breaking her chain of thought.

“Do you?” she shot back at him.

In the end, Russia himself had taken the luxury of choice out of her hands. He bombed her Kassa and she had to retaliate, had to declare war against the Soviets.

There was a long moment of silence that passed between the two of them. Prussia sighed and she wondered, what sort of memory was he remembering? What did he see, who was he seeing projected in his mind?

Was it Ludwig? Dressed up in his uniform, ready to be presented as a propaganda figure, held up as twisted ideal by those evil men that isolated him from anyone else so they could play with his mind?

Was it Poland? Feliks with his face all battered and bruised, spitting in his face and calling him Nazi scum?

Was it Austria, his blank, cool detachment when he agreed to the Anschluss? 

“You know, they gave me the choice to go to war instead of my brother. If I were given the same choice….”

“Gilbert” She tried to stop him from talking, but maybe he felt it too, the inviting darkness that urged them to spill out their guts in front of each other. There was no stopping once you started. But she didn’t want this confession, she didn’t want to hear him talk about this.

The war was a damn knife that stabbed at their bellies, and Gilbert was twisting and turning the blades.

“I would do it again, I’d march right up to Russia and offer myself on a damn silver platter, you know. Now especially – the thought of Ludwig being here instead of me…”

He tightened his grip on her and Hungary thought his fingers would leave bruises on her skin.

The two of them had been together at Stalingrad, where Hungary’s army had been obliterated and she had been vomiting blood over Prussia’s boots. _You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be here_ , he had yelled at her, but Hungary had been too dizzy from it all.

“I thought I’d die in that war.” She told him.

“I think I did.” He answered, plainly and casually, like saying the sky was blue and that water was wet.

It made a cold shiver run over her spine, because Gilbert dying wasn’t something she allowed herself to think about. The possibility of it was still fresh in her mind, if she dwelled on it too long she would remember how….

How long it took for him to wake up after an injury. How before it was less than an hour and now he was out of it for days. How she had stayed up next to his body, waiting and praying for him to wake up.

Hungary turned around to look at him. She put her open palms on his chest and focused, focused, was unable to breathe until she felt his heart beating against hands. Then she felt like she was split open in the middle, spilling feelings and hurt everywhere.

“During the war, I thought….it would be better. I thought after this war is over, I thought we could put it behind us. Carry on and find some measure of peace. I was clinging to that, you know – when were in Stalingrad.” She laughed in his face, closed her eyes tightly and refused to let any tears fall. “There’s nothing to cling to here, is there?” But Hungary didn’t wait for him to give her an answer and pressed her mouth against his.

She shoved him back towards the bed and Prussia let himself get pushed. He sat down heavily on the bed and Hungary didn’t waste a second before getting on her knees in front of him and taking him into her mouth.

Prussia gasped as she started to suck him, filling in her mouth and getting hard under her attention. His hands went directly to her head and he grabbed her by the hair. He didn’t pull or push, just grabbed on to her as means of steadying himself. Hungary wasn’t exactly the kind that enjoyed to give blowjobs, though she always enjoyed the way Prussia reacted to them.

He gasped and moaned and swore, the muscles of his thighs shook and spasmed when she sucked him. It was fun, to see this was the equivalent of having her hand gripping his steering wheel. She loved having him submit to her will like this.

Conversations about death and dying should always be followed by a damn orgasm.

The weight of the world could go fuck itself, because she spent every minute of every day thinking about all the wrong choices that led her to this point, to where she was forced to live with Russia. Sometimes she closed her eyes and she saw men dying and villages burning, she felt the pain off of her people dying, saw the men she loved pulled to shreds by war. Sometimes she wanted to pull her hair out of her head, sometimes she wanted to yell at all the gods she ever knew.

She kept sucking him, bobbing her head and swirling her tongue over the head of his dick. Her gag-reflex was generally terrible, so she wasn’t going to attempt anything to wild. Hungary had never been able to take the full length of his dick in her mouth without chocking and gagging, but she gripped him in her hand and rubbed him the same rhythm as her bobbing head. There was enough saliva to make for a smooth slide, and she could tighten and loosen her grip on him to simulate contractions.

Prussia was leaning back on his elbows, staring at her. She could see the muscles of his abdomen taunt, saw them tensing with each delicious sound that came out of his mouth. It was wildly arousing to know that she needed to do so little to have him reduced to this lovely state of moaning and quivering and begging her with his eyes and his body.

  
“Erzsi, Erzsi, Erzsi – stop, stop, come here. _Stop_.” Prussia asked, begged her, and she pulled her mouth away from him only to ask.

“Yeah, why should I?” There was spit running down her chin and Prussia was looking at her like she was the best thing ever. She bit her lips, frowned at him and continued to jerk him off with brisk movements.

“If you don’t stop, I’m going to come.” His voice cut off on the last word and he fell back across the sheets with a gasp.

“Isn’t that the point? I want to make you come.” She retaliated by twisting her wrist and putting hard pressure on the tip. She knew he liked that and took advantage of it.

“I want to fuck you again.”

That statement made heady arousal burst and bubble in her guts.

“Oh, well, I…” she didn’t know what she was supposed to say to that, what sort of witty, cool one-liner could she come up with? She wanted him to fuck her, she wanted to think about absolutely nothing, she wanted to drown in him again.

“Let me fuck you again, _Erzsi,_ I want to come inside you.” He held his hands out to her, “Come here, Erzsi, come here.”

“Oh, alright. I suppose I….” but her voice sounded desperate to her own ears, and it only made him laugh at her attempt to be cool and composed.

“Yeah, come on, Erzsi. Come here, _please_.”

She needed him to keep her mind off the dark things that lurked around its corners.

Hungary got up from where was sitting on got on top of him, straddled his hips and guided him inside of her. She felt so wet and slippery, Hungary sighed contentedly to feel him inside of her, giving her something to grip against.

Prussia’s hands came to rest against her thighs while she started grinding down on him, setting the pace she was most comfortable with. She rolled her hips and let her clit rub against him – hypersensitive as she was, the stimulation was very close to being too much, but it was still good, still something she wanted to chase.

It hurt a bit, but it made her feel so present in her body, like there was no where else to go, she was here, she was with him, they were in this together and at least for a couple of minutes, this was the only important thing they had to deal with. She could ride him, they could fuck until the sky fell over them and make each other come until they couldn’t anymore – and leave the full expanse of past and future at the door while they were together.

“Fuck, Erzsi, I’m going to come if you keep going like that.”

That made her throw her head back, laugh between helpless moans that were pouring from her mouth. She made sure to keep the same tempo, the same pace, until he was coming again and Hungary felt him spasm inside of her. She kept riding him throughout his orgasm, rubbed her clit furiously and forced herself to come again before she was willing to get off him.

They were laying in bed next to each other afterwards, panting and exhausted. She hoped that this time around, they were both much to exhausted to start any sort of serious conversation. Sex, however, had strange effects on the brain. The rush of dopamine and serotonin and oxytocin, all those feel good chemicals that were inundating her system, it made her feels soft and made the walls between her mouth and her thoughts evaporate.

“Sometimes I really miss Roderich, Gil.” The confession tumbled out of her mouth and when she realized it, she cringed at it. Oh, lord, you don’t talk about your ex husband when you’re in bed with someone else.

Gilbert, however, he chuckled sadly and pulled her into a one handed embrace as best as he could.

“Sometimes I really miss Roddy too, Erzsi.” He shook his head. There was a sad, wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Soviet would be a terrible look for him, though.”

“Yeah, it would.” She could imagine it, the look of absolute disgust on Roderich’s face if Russia ever tried to boss him around. He wouldn’t be able to keep it off his face and he would make Russia so fucking mad.

“I’m glad he’s not here, he’s too much of an aristocrat. It’d be annoying to listen to him whine.”

Both of them knew what Gilbert really meant by that statement, though – Austria would get his teeth bashed in more frequently that anyone else, for the simple reason that his innate aristocracy was something the communists hated with a burning passion. Roderich himself didn’t know how to act like anything other than a snotty aristocrat, so for the sake of Austria’s teeth, Gilbert and Erzsebet were relieved he wasn’t joining them in happy Soviet family.

“We need to take him out for dinner, when we get out of here.” She suggested.

“When we get out of here, Erzsi, do you know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna find the nearest bakery and get myself some good bread. Russia’s cheap-ass, stale white bread tastes like sadness and I can’t stand it.”

“I miss coffee,” Hungary said, sighing nostalgically. The coffeehouses in Vienna and Budapest, where you felt the flavor of coffee on your tongue simply by smelling the air inside. “I really, really miss proper fucking coffee.”

“You mean coffee that isn’t part rye and part acorns? Actual fucking proper coffee? That doesn’t taste like it was already brewed in several times before we get to it?”

“Oh, god, _yes_. Proper fucking coffee, Gilbert.”

“I think I forgot how proper coffee tastes.” He confessed.

“What about chocolate, though? That good stuff that Belgium used to bring us.”

“Or those nice cheeses that Switzerland had, man those were goods.”

They spent too much time talking about this, exchanging back and forth stories, wistfully remembering all those things that were impossible to get now.

“You know what I really miss? Late Spring in Berlin. Remember what it was like, when the trees were in bloom?”

Of course she remember, how the linden trees bloomed and how it smelled. Prussia had puffed his chest out like a damn peacock, taken her by the hand and pulled her along with him down _Unter den Linden_ , when the trees had been in full bloom.

Both of them had been so much younger then; Berlin had been beautiful and pristine and imposing, and Prussia had been proud of what his people had accomplished and Hungary wanted to kiss him because she had been proud of him too.

“Yeah, I remember. They smelled like honey.”

All the flowers that fell got stuck in her hair.

The linden trees that she and Prussia walked hand in hand under – those didn’t exist anymore. Hilter got them removed, so he could replace them with his ugly fucking flags. And sure, they were replanted afterwards but…

It wasn’t the same.

They weren’t the same linden trees and they both knew it.

That world had been burned torn apart and destroyed.

“Remember how they made Roderich sneeze?” Gilbert said with a laugh. Erzsebet burst into amused laughter.

“You asshole, he was allergic to them.”

“How was I supposed to know he was allergic, Erzsi? They were damn pretty trees and they smelled nice.”

Hungary closed her eyes and struggled to remember it. Prussia was still talking next to her, but tried to block him out and concentrated on something else; allowed her mind to go chasing memories and grasping at feelings - the bloom of linden trees in her nose, the warm sun shining over Berlin. 

She thought she almost, almost had it, but it was the taste on her tongue that betrayed her. Sharp, metallic and tangy in her mouth, the taste of blood was a taint she couldn’t possibly escape.


End file.
